Nostalgia

Lately, I’ve been feeling nostalgic and a little homesick.

It seems to happen a lot this time of year, when the air is sweet with the smell of dry grass and oak and a hint of woodsmoke.  Several weeks ago, I heard a rooster crowing before dawn and I was struck by this memory of snuggling down in bed, listening to the roosters in the pasture and the pots and pans in the kitchen as my mom made breakfast.  And I fixated on this craving for the sourdough pancakes my mom used to make.

So I started experimenting with sourdough starters.  Unfortunately, the one thing my mom did not commit to her cookbook was her recipe for a starter.  I think I have the basics figured out now, though I need to try using regular white flour instead of whole wheat flour.  And then I need to figure out the pancakes.

I have so many questions that I wish I could ask my mom.  The gods know I could use her advice – and of course, I didn’t take her advice when she was alive to voice it.  I miss her so much.

Yet I am probably stronger for having to work these things out on my own.